Prelude
by Jilly-chan
Summary: During the Black Rose Saga. Shiori's beginning to attend Ohtori Academy. Not that anyone's noticed yet--until Utena slips into the Kendo training room for a little practice.


Prelude  
  
By Jillian Storm  
  
(Disclaimer: Howdy! This is an Utena/Shiori fic as Alithea challenged me to try. For which I'm very grateful! Only thing, neither of the girls were willing to be romantic with each other so it's more of an Utena/Shiori confrontation fic. Takes place just after the Black Rose Saga has started, but before Shiori makes her official introduction. Characters: not mine. Lyrics are from Lara Fabian's song "I Will Love Again." Good ideas and mistakes? Yeah, I guess I'll take credit for those.)  
  
The nagging feeling tickled her like the whiskers of a cat, first along side her ankles, then into her lap, following that movement to her sensitive neck. Caressing, against her cheek, her ear. Still, even the most persistent kitten can be ignored by a sleeper. And the nagging feeling was also brushed aside as Utena steeled her resolve. Her resolve to practice. Her resolve to win with a bit more skill and deliberateness. Now that winning meant more than spoiling the Student Council's resolve to play some silly game in order to possess Anthy. Now that winning meant protecting Anthy from these new dark duelists, unexpected and coming from any direction, any person.  
  
Utena was not one to be suspicious. She would simply practice. Practice and forget the distasteful thought that for all of her best efforts, at this late hour, she still truly didn't know where Anthy was. Disappearing as she sometimes would. Or how to protect her in any other way than winning the duels.  
  
Sliding the door to the Kendo Room open, Utena was briefly amused with the dismay that now expelled Saionji might have felt knowing she was invading his most sacred space. But she needed a free room to practice. And there was no way she was going to join the fencing club.  
  
As she peered into the shadows, Utena saw that she wasn't the only Ohtori student taking advantage of Saionji's absence. "Isn't it a little dark in here to be doing . . . uh, artwork?" Utena rubbed the back of her neck, smiling with sheepish friendliness. Hoping to excuse herself without too much trouble.  
  
"Utena . . . Tenjou." The room's occupant glanced up from where she sat on the wooden floor. Supplies scattered around her, pencils, charcoal, paper, glue, scissors, and even a few cut up juice boxes.  
  
"That's me." Utena continued smiling, "And you have me at a bit of a disadvantage, I don't believe we've met before?"  
  
"No, we haven't." The girl blinked, even in the shadows Utena knew that the girl was particularly ordinary. And while Utena tried to maintain a pleasant relationship with all of her classmates, several of them did blend into one another. Only the noise few like Wakaba or the peculiar ones like Anthy made themselves permanent fixtures in her life. The briefest flicker of regret pulled her smiling lips down. However, intrigued, Utena found herself distracted by the substantial project.  
  
"I suppose you come here so you can spread everything out. What class is this for?" Utena knelt as close as she could, as close as the littered objects allowed.  
  
"It's not for class, it's therapeutic."  
  
"You're an artist then. A hobby, right." Utena grinning again, while the girl watched her with distant violet eyes.  
  
A glance that might have been mistaken for bashfulness, but veiling more as the unrecognized girl spoke again, "Therapeutic. As in, for my therapist. I do these things to relax and . . . it's not really something I choose to do."  
  
"Then why?" Utena was still kneeling, balancing on the balls of her feet, but rolled back to sit with her arms wrapped around her curled, tomboyish limbs. Her toes then pulled child-like off the floor. "Or, why does your therapist think this will help?"  
  
"It's supposed to show how I can work through things. How I can make a difference in my own life." The girl's eyes met Utena's with almost a challenge, "That I can be noticed and . . ."  
  
Utena's smile relaxed and she interrupted, "You get to explore your own personal creative side."  
  
"I use it to take control of something."  
  
"Ah, okay." Utena shrugged, trying to understand. She knew she automatically drew attention to herself by her unusual uniform and her athletic preferences. She was used to being noticed, but she was also used to taking care of herself as well. Watching the rather ordinary girl sort through her equipment, Utena couldn't imagine being unnoticed. "What's this?" Utena pointed to something near her, a design made by rubber bands interwoven and glued onto a reasonably large piece of wood. Almost looking like a trail map on a park sign.  
  
"The deception of love."  
  
"That's deep." Utena said, lightly.  
  
"Love can be a tangled mess." The girl leaned back and let her hands cross her lap, touching the hem of her skirt. The uniform that could only make the plain girl blend more into the background of her identically clad classmates. "My therapist says it's because I let others guide my own emotions."  
  
"Well, love is love. It should be your own heart that chooses those things." Utena nodded.  
  
"Really? Truly?" The girl said, not asking. "How can you trust your heart? The heart is not always motivated with love. There is envy also. And either, exercised without control will . . ." She nodded to the piece Utena had noticed, " . . . it's a tangled, tangled mess."  
  
Utena couldn't help but imagine that most of the supplies scattered around the other girl were only evidence of the larger mess that had captured and confused this girl's heart. The sort of muddle that even a therapist might not be able to sort through. What this girl needed was . . .  
  
Utena rolled forward on her feet, stretching like a cat over the barrier of supplies and, balancing on her arms, leaned into the girl's startled face. Apparently, the other girl was not expecting anyone to ever come so close to her. Utena watched the other's eyes sink into a deeper, darker richness at the closer proximity.  
  
"What you need is a prince." Utena said simply, unaware of how alluring her own innocent tone could be. The girl began to tremble nervously for all the comfort that Utena expressed and offered. "Someone to cross over all of these barriers and rescue you."  
  
"No," the girl frowned, almost panicked. "I need control, not to be rescued."  
  
"You don't need to be rescued?" Utena teased, shifting to support herself with one shoulder and tapping the girl's upturned nose with the index finger of her other hand. The ring. The ring on that hand somehow catching an escaped ray of evening's light and flashing between them. "No, not rescued. Just noticed. Appreciated. Treasured. Treasured not for what someone else thinks you areâ€"but for who you truly are."  
  
"Close enough." The other girl said, but not in agreement. She leaned back farther, curling her fingers into and crumpling the papers she fell back on, causing a few loose nuts and bolts nearby to roll until they reached the wall. The sound they made against the floor stunning in the silence following her angry comment. The only other sound, the girl's frantic breath. "Get away from me. I'm not like that."  
  
"Not like what?" Utena said, puzzled.  
  
"Coming at me like a wolf."  
  
"I'm not going to hurt you." Utena's tone turned perplexed. "I just wanted to . . . I don't know."  
  
"I suppose you were going to offer to be my prince?" The girl whispered, her voice suddenly hoarse.  
  
"I-I," caught off guard, Utena pulled back to her side of the scattered artwork and materials. "I just want to help people."  
  
The girl paused, her face contorted in what seemed like pain until she laughed mirthlessly, "There it is again. People wanting to take care of me. I can take care of myself." She stopped laughing and slowly uncurled her finger from the pages of charcoal drawings she had ruined. Glancing down at them, she frowned, saying sadly, "You remind me of someone I used to know. Someone who . . . was very kind to me. Someone I wanted to hurt very much." Her eyes darted back to Utena and flashed darkly, "It's best that you don't have anything to do with me."  
  
Preparing herself to protest, to protect this plain girl, Utena stopped mid- word as voices echoed along the hall.  
  
"I heard sounds from the Kendo Room. I think some students are sneaking around after hours."  
  
"Damn." The trembling girl sprang out like a spider pulling everything toward herself and shoving it carelessly into a satchel.  
  
"Do you need help?" Utena stood up quickly, not really wanting to be caught out so late either. Fleetingly, the worry reminded her that Anthy might be back now if she were to go back to her own room.  
  
"No!" The girl still frantically collecting her things.  
  
Utena went to the wall to pick up the items that had rolled there. Brought them back and solemnly put them into the girl's waiting and outstretched palm.  
  
"We need to get out of here." Utena stopped the girl from running toward the main door and directed her to another exit opposite from the voices and hidden in the deepest dark corner of the room. She took the girl's elbow, only to be shrugged off.  
  
"I don't need to be rescued." The girl said sharply and as soon as they had slipped outside she fled.  
  
Utena watched her go. Wondering what the girl's name was.  
  
Wondering if she'd actually recognize her again, away from the shadows of the Kendo Room.  
  
I will love again  
  
Though my heart is breaking  
  
I will love again  
  
Stronger than before  
  
I will love again  
  
Even if it takes a lifetime to get over you  
  
Heaven only knows  
  
I will love again  
  
So if all this talk sounds crazy  
  
And the words don't come out right  
  
Does it really matter  
  
if it gets me through this night  
  
Shiori slammed the dorm room door closed behind her and stared into the barely unpacked room. Breathing hard, leaning against the door's solid support with her head twisted sharply to one side.  
  
A Prince. How ridiculous. How . . . how much like something Juri would say, or do rather. Shiori laughed at the thought. Then hesitated, had she remembered correctly? If she remembered Juri correctly.  
  
But that was why she was there. At that school. To find out.  
  
To find out if in her absence, Shiori had ever learned to take control. 


End file.
